Pirate Skills
by Iverna
Summary: A missing scene from 4x05 - Killian helps Belle with babysitting little Neal. Shameless fluff.


A smile keeps tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Killian does his best to fight it. It may be dark already, but it won't do to have people see Captain Hook walking down the street with a ridiculous smile on his face.

It's the boy's fault. Henry shares his father's enthusiasm for sailing, and unlike Baelfire, he's not shy about showing it. And now that he remembers who Killian really is, there seems to be no end to his questions. Even the life vest – _sorry, lad, your mother's orders; we'd best follow them_ – wasn't able to dampen his excitement for long.

It was a good day. Killian can still feel his skin tingling from the sea wind, taste the salt on his lips, and his strides fall light and easy as he makes his way to the building where Emma and her parents live. He doesn't regret giving up his ship or coming here, but the sea is in his blood, makes him feel alive, gives him peace and strength and hope.

But now he wants to see Emma. She'll want to hear about Henry, and he wants to either hear what she's found about the Snow Queen, or try to lift her spirits if her day's efforts have proven fruitless.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, however, he hesitates. Behind the door to the loft, a baby is crying – an impressively loud wailing with only a few interruptions for drawing breath. Killian gives the door a doubtful look, no longer sure if he should intrude.

On the other hand, this is Storybrooke, and he's outside the Charmings' apartment, and it's not that far-fetched to think that someone might need help.

He knocks.

He has to knock twice more before a woman's voice yells, "One minute!"

A moment later, the door opens, and Killian takes an involuntary step back as the wailing becomes louder. It takes him a moment to realise that the woman holding Neal in her arms is Belle, her hair in disarray and her skin flushed. "Hook. What—" she readjusts her grip on the baby. "—what is it?"

He glances past her into the apartment, but it's obvious that she's alone. "Where is everyone?"

"Out," Belle all but snaps, and Killian feels his hackles rise. But she doesn't leave him time to snap back. "Look, if you don't mind, I'm a little busy—"

Something whistles inside the apartment, which has Neal renewing his efforts at bawling his lungs out. Belle whirls around and leaves Killian standing there, a little shell-shocked. She hurries over to the stove and takes the kettle off it, trying to rock Neal while she works. "There, it's okay, it's okay," she says, even though her tone implies that nothing is okay at all. "I'm going to make your bottle now, okay?"

That reduces the volume somewhat, but the baby is still crying. Judging by the strain in Belle's voice, this has been going on for a while, and Killian swallows his comment about proper manners when answering doors, and steps into the apartment. He winces as he watches her pick up the kettle with hot water. "Perhaps you should put the child d—"

"I can't," Belle cuts him off, frustration in her voice. "It only makes him cry more."

"Then at least let me help," he says.

She gives him a scornful look. "_You're_ going to help me mix formula?"

He has no idea what that refers to, but he's not about to stand by and watch her juggle the baby, a kettle with hot water, and the packets and bottles that seem to be necessary for whatever she's doing. "You've only got two hands, lass. How about I hold the child and you concentrate on..." He indicates the collection on the counter. "On all of that."

She gives him an incredulous look, and he can't blame her for being guarded. He can't really blame anyone for being reluctant to trust Captain Hook with a child, and Belle has more reason than most to be wary of him.

But Neal is still crying, and Belle really does only have two hands, and after another moment she gives in and hands the baby to Killian.

He hasn't held a baby in a long time, but it comes back to him quickly. The hook makes it a little tricky, but he manages to settle the lad in the crook of his arm and cradles his head with his one hand, a little awkwardly. Neal's cries increase in volume again and Killian winces. "Sorry, lad," he says. "But I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the moment, until we can get you some dinner. Hungry, is he?"

Belle gives a desperate sort of shrug as she measures out a whitish powder. "I don't know." And then the words tumble out, the stress winning out over her reluctance to trust him. "I've already tried feeding him, but he doesn't need to be changed, and I don't know what else to do. He was fine at first, but since Snow left, he just won't stop crying. You don't think he's sick, do you?"

Killian is far from an expert on children, but he knows a thing or two about illness. "That would be remarkable timing, and rather sudden. I doubt it." He tries a reassuring smile, even though the effect is probably rather ruined by Neal's wailing. "Perhaps the food will help."

He takes a few steps away from Belle to give her some space, and begins rocking the lad, shifting his grip a little so that Neal is resting more comfortably against his chest. "There, now, lad," he says, keeping his voice low and steady. "Your parents will be back, you know. They've only gone out for a walk. They'll return soon enough, don't you worry."

The crying grows a little quieter, and Killian keeps walking slowly, aimlessly, bouncing the child gently up and down. He begins to hum a half-forgotten lullaby, and to his surprise and relief, it seems to work. After another minute or so, the crying has stopped and Neal has settled, his eyes shut.

He's a good lad, really, Killian decides. And he seems to share Henry's ability to put a smile on Killian's face and stir that warm feeling in his chest. He isn't much for babies, generally; a kid like Henry is far more useful, able to talk and laugh and ask questions and steer a ship. But there's something about holding Neal that feels good, wholesome, like _family_. He's missed that. He's wanted that.

He still does.

He becomes aware that Belle is staring at him, a baby bottle forgotten in her hand. "What did you _do_?" she asks in a whisper.

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face when he sees that he's just managed to impress her. "Nothing."

"No, you did something," Belle insists, suspicion creeping back onto her features. "I tried _everything_, and you just picked him up and he was fine?"

She's upset. Killian's grin disappears. The last thing he wants is to upset this woman yet again; he's already keeping a secret from her, a big one, and his conscience rears up at the reminder. Concerns for himself aside, he still doesn't know whether it's right to tell her or not; he knows that the truth would crush her, but being complicit in this lie sits ill with him too. Not for the first time, he wishes he'd never figured out the crocodile's dirty little secret. It _is_ the first time that he wishes there was no such secret, for Belle's sake. He still can't see a good way out of that particular mess.

But right now she just feels like she's failed Neal somehow, and with that, at least, he can help.

He shakes his head. "I only reassured him that his parents would return to him. Given who his parents are, I'd wager he's perceptive enough to notice what's going on around him, and... you _were_ rather stressed."

Belle squeezes her eyes shut. "And he picked up on that. Right."

"He's perceptive. It runs in the family." He lifts an eyebrow and moves toward her. "Here. Take him."

She hesitates. "Maybe you should..."

"Nonsense," he says. "You said he was fine before, as I recall. You simply had too much on your plate."

That gets him a smile, the first genuine smile she's ever given him. But before she can take the baby, their attention is drawn by the click of the lock and the door opening ever so gently.

Snow ducks through it, eyebrows raised, quiet in case the baby is sleeping. She does a confused double take when she sees Killian, still holding her son. "Hook?"

He hands Neal to Belle. "Good evening, milady."

"What're you doing here? Is Neal okay?"

"He's fine," Belle assures her.

"I came by looking for Emma," Killian explains, driven by a strange kind of guilt. He isn't even sure why he feels guilty – for holding the child without Snow's permission, maybe, or for being here alone with Belle, or for any other conclusion Snow might draw from his presence here.

"He helped me out," Belle adds, smiling at Snow, Neal calm in her arms now. "I was having a bit of trouble and he showed up at the perfect time."

"Huh." Snow hangs up her coat and joins them, already reaching for her son. "Hey there, sweetie. Mommy's back. Did you miss me?"

"I think he did," Belle says a little ruefully. "He cried a little until Hook calmed him down."

Snow looks at him, expression shifting from surprising to appraising, and Killian wants to sink into the floor. He would never have guessed that helping people isn't nearly as bad or embarrassing as getting credit for it.

A little knowing smile appears on Snow's face, one that Killian recognises, because Emma is really damn good at that smile as well. He doesn't like it. At all. "Oh?" Snow says, a speculative gleam in her eye. "And how does _Captain Hook_ know how hold a baby?"

"As a pirate, you learn to handle all kinds of cargo," he says with a shrug. "Including passengers."

Thankfully, David chooses that moment to return and unwittingly save him from this conversation. He also tells Snow that their daughter has returned to the sheriff's station to catch up on some work, and Killian grins and takes that as his cue to leave.

He escorts Belle out as far as the street, where their paths diverge.

"Thank you," she tells him before turning to go. "Really."

He swallows. "Don't mention it." _Especially not to your husband._

She nods, and with another smile, she's gone.

He stares into the darkness of the street for a moment, emotions and thoughts swirling around inside him. He did good today. It's a new discovery, the fact that the skills he learned as a pirate can be used in this life, too, in better ways.

He did good today. He doesn't always. He won't always. Half the time, he still struggle to figure out what "good" means; his moral compass is a little unreliable.

He takes a deep breath. He can smell the salt in the air even here, a constant reminder that the sea is never far, and it brings back some of the peace from earlier. And he turns and heads towards the sheriff station, towards the other, newer, constant in his life. He has a feeling that she could do with some of that peace, too.


End file.
